Already?

I can’t believe that it has started already. Here it is just a few days into September and it has started. Looking back now it started a few days ago but in a more subtle less direct approach. Adverts appeared on the telly for large tins of chocolates, buy one get one free. Nothing too suspicious about that you might say. But then today I pop into my local convenience store for some bread and milk and whilst looking around I spot some chocolate snowmen for sale, I tut and think to myself not already surely? Then I go to the gym for a swim, all very nice and when I finished I went into the gyms café for a coffee. Out of the corner of my eye I catch a flashing, twinkling light, drawn to it I turn to see what it is. To my horror it is a Christmas tree with twinkly fairy lights and presents wrapped in brightly coloured metallic paper nestled underneath.

It’s September.

As you may be aware from previous entries I love Christmas, I really do. But I can’t stand it when people start it so early. I can forgive supermarkets getting Christmas goods in early, people need to spread the cost and buy bits and pieces over a period of time. But do we really need to start decorations quite so early?
One of the things that, at least used to make Christmas so special and magical was the fact that it happened just once a year, (thankfully that hasn’t changed) and that it was just one or two, maybe three special days with a couple of weeks leading up to it. Now with decorations and lights being displayed so early in the year it takes the sparkle of it. You become desensitised to it, you get used to seeing the decorations, the tinsel, the fairly lights and the fake snow and it starts to become tedious and dull.
Look at it this way, when a bride walks down the aisle in a beautiful white wedding dress it takes your breath away, she looks beautiful. Had she been wearing the dress every day for the last three months leading up to that special day it wouldn’t be quite so amazing and part of the magnificence and beauty would have been removed.

We could all do with a little more magic in our lives; lets not destroy the one time of the year that gives it to us.
Christmas is one of the most magical times of the year for adults and children alike. Wanting to prolong the magic is understandable, but in doing so you are actually lessening the experience.
Love Christmas; immerse yourself in it and all of its splendour and wonderment. Let’s have a full colour Christmas not something that has been drawn out and dulled into greys and blacks.

Who, what, why, where, when, how?

I went for a swim today, as I often do and as I was getting changed overheard a conversation between a grandfather and his grand daughter, whom I am estimating to have been between two or three years old, but could be completely wrong, when it comes to guessing ages, especially that of children I am next to useless. Anyway she was of an age to be talking, obviously, and also required these new fangled swimming nappies that I have seen you can get. Judging from the conversation between them they had just been to the shop and purchased said nappy and from the sound of it were unable to buy the size they would normally get, the grand daughter was inquiring why they couldn’t buy the normal size and the grand father tried to explain that they were sold out. The conversation flowed pretty much as follows:

Grandfather: “We had to get the medium because they didn’t have the large in”
Grand daughter: “Why?”

GF “Because they had run out”
GD: “Why?”

GF: “Because other people have brought them and they have not had any more come in”
GD: “Why?”

GF: “Because the man who comes round in a van has not been yet.”
GD: “The man in the van? Why?”

GF: “Yes, he’s probably very busy.”
GD: “Why?”

GF: “He has to drive to lots of shops.”
GD: “Why?”

And so the conversation continued in much the same vein, the child constantly asking for more and more information, I’m sure those of you that are parents can relate to this kind of conversation and have had many similar. The inquisitive nature of a child’s mind is phenomenal, at this age they are like a sponge, absorbing every tiny thing around them, always wanting to know more, never accepting something at face value but always wanting that little bit more information. Everything is new to them and they are excited to learn about it and discover exactly how things tick. The learning potential for a child is exceptional, teachers of any description will generally tell you the best time to learn anything is when you are a child and your brain is still open and receptive to new information. Just think how much information they are taking on in their early years, from learning to speak to discovering the everyday objects around them.

I have often, as an adult attempted to learn something new and struggled, I often wish I could roll the years back and learnt all the things I wish I could do now then. Take musicians as an example, those that play instruments that are supremely talented and the top of their field have generally been playing or learnt to play as a child, of course the amount of years playing goes a long way to them becoming as great as they are now but having started so young must have been a very large contributing factor to the talent they now have.

I’m sure we have all seen the pushy parents attempting to get their children interested in something, whether it be piano lessons, beauty pageants or general studies, and all frowned in disapproval, but I think as parents we should be active in our children’s lives and at least they are. Now don’t get me wrong, I don’t approve of the extremes that are often showcased on television, where nothing else seems to matter to the parent than the next talent show or competition, where I’m sure we often think it’s the parent trying to live their youth again through their children. In these cases the parents in question seems completely oblivious to what the child actually wants just as much, possibly even more so than the parent that ignores their child or takes little interest in them, instead they have gone to the extreme so much so that the child just becomes a cog in the machine to win the prize or achieve the acclamation.

There was a common saying when I was growing up, which I can clearly remember my grand mother saying, that a child should be seen and not heard. What complete and utter nonsense. I just hope that this has not been passed down through the generations and has been left in the past where it truly belongs. A child should be cherished and treasured; they are not merely trophies to be exhibited when the vicar comes to tea. We need to take heed of the children in our lives, listen to them as we would our peers or elders, do not disregard there needs and requests. We should attempt to fill their lives with as much as possible to help them grow into the adults we would like them to be, encourage them in all that they do, introduce them to as much as humanly possible so they at least know it’s there in the first place, a child that is not aware of the piano will not show interest in one, make it available to them and if they welcome it all the better, if they do not then so be it, but at least they are aware of its existence. Give your child every opportunity that maybe you weren’t, and if they show a desire for something then encourage it and maybe you will find your childs natural talent that will not only enrich their lives but yours too.

Give the sponge water to be absorbed.

Two Hearts

I have come to realise that I wear my heart on my sleeve much more than I realised I did. I thought I kept my feelings fairly well guarded and hard to decipher except to those that know me well. Not that I think it is a good thing to be so guarded but believe it to be a defence mechanism to protect myself from letting people get too close and then in a position to cause me pain. I have, regrettably in the past let people past my outer defences only for them to attack me from within, a Trojan horse of emotional conflict.

I have always been a fairly emotionally charged person and will easily get upset over things and people that I care about, I have worked in jobs that could have proved very emotionally taxing, however due to the fact the job was with people that didn’t really mean anything to me I was able to remain emotionally detached from it. However when things come closer to home it is quite often all I can do to hold in the tears. I don’t think it is a bad thing for a man to cry or for a man to cry in public, in fact I think more men should, but sometimes I do struggle with this and will try in desperation to control myself and not show my emotion in a physical form, preferring to do this in the seclusion and safety of my own home and in private.

We have two hearts, the first being the muscular organ in our chest cavity which pumps blood around our bodies, the second being the metaphorical heart, the source and centre for our emotional life, a place where our sincerest and deepest feelings can be found, a place incredibly vulnerable to pain.
Without either we would cease to be.

If our emotional heart is damaged I’m not sure it will ever be as good as it once was, I think we have the ability to repair ourselves but that the scars will always be present and just maybe weaken the area damaged. I think we, the human race, have an adept ability to get back up and carry on, we all go through various hardships and difficult times and most of us are fortunate enough to come through the other side. There are, of course some that sadly fall by the wayside, maybe there heart was already weakened from previous conflicts and just could not cope with the most recent trauma, I don’t know.

I believe I am a fairly strong person, emotionally; I have dealt with various tragedies to my personal life over the years and in my eyes for the most part have coped well. I think this is partly due to the fact that I have learned to release my emotions, whether in private or with others I trust. Emotions that are not released can only put added pressure on the weakened scar tissue and cause further damage. During my young adult life I had not learnt how to deal with my emotions quite so well and did some things that I am not proud of, drank far too much in a futile attempt to find the answers I was looking for, for what its worth the answers are never at the bottom of the bottle, no matter how many you look in.

Sometimes I contemplate things maybe a bit to much, relive past hurts in my private times a bit too often, but maybe that is just the way I have come to learn how to cope with and deal with whatever it is that may be troubling me now, looking for answers or solutions to previous worries. When you are alone you have plenty of time to examine your heart and soul, to prod around in places that sometimes you wish weren’t there. When you are in that quite place, whether it be those few minutes before you fall asleep at night and you are just lying there in your bed or if you are lucky enough to grab a few minutes during the day, when you are alone with just your thoughts as company, when the world lays still and a hush falls over the commotion of the day, when that hollow feeling engulfs your chest and your eyes well with the tears of faded scars, you reflect on yourself and catch a glimpse of the person that you are.
It can be a scary place to be, a very lonely, desolate place, a place that asks us questions we don’t want to answer, but at some point we must all visit it. Some more than others, it is a place I have come to know all to well and would like to leave undisturbed for a time. But life asks questions of us and demands answers and sometimes those answers can only be retrieved from the darkest of places.

I fear I still have many questions to go, many left unanswered that I have yet to find the answers to or am just too scared to venture where I know they can be found.

The Elephant in the Room

Who’s to say what consciousness is? Nobody can really describe the conscious state other than it being a state of self awareness, an awareness of your surroundings and your feelings, an ability to make decisions and make perceptions. But that doesn’t really explain what consciousness is. Nobody can truly say that the way I experience consciousness is the same as anybody else. It is a very individual thing and one of life’s true mysteries.

For all I know everything around me is a figment of my own imagination. It is possible that I am not living the life that I believe I am living but am instead in a fantasy world of my own creating. All it takes is imagination. The human brain is probably the most creative of all the animal kingdom, everything we see around us that has been created by man is as a result of somebody’s imagination. From the chair I am sitting on to the computer I am writing this on. It all started life as somebody’s idea. So what is stopping my brain from creating an existence and then living my life in the dream world? My true life could be the furthest thing from this supposed reality that I am immersed in. Maybe I am a prisoner somewhere and this reality is being forced upon me to keep me subdued. That somewhere deep inside I know this and am trying to wake myself from the dream world by writing this, trying to remove the blindfold. All very Matrix like but a possibility none the less.
Maybe I am a patient on a ward in a coma, and that this is the reality I have created whilst my body recovers. That one day I will wake up in a hospital bed, unfamiliar with the world I awake too and long to return to the familiarity that I have created and lived in for the past 34 years. Maybe the true reality in which I am actually living is so awful that I have created this as a form of escape.

Nobody can ever prove to me that any of this life is real, anything that happens either to me or to others I can simply explain away as a figment of my imagination. Touch and feelings are just electrical impulses sent to the brain via nerves and then translated by the brain into substance. Electrical impulses can be manipulated, forged and imitated, my brain could be deceived into thinking it is typing on this keyboard. The human mind is very susceptible, hypnosis is common practice for various treatments and also used for comical entertainment, I’m sure we have all seen somebody made to believe they are a chicken or some such nonsense and paraded around on stage laying eggs and clucking. We can be made to believe we are seeing things that are not actually there, all of our senses can be conned into an alternate reality. Can we really trust our own senses? For all I know I could not exist at all but am just a part of someone else’s creativity and a figment of someone else’s imagination. I am just a character created in the mind of another and quite simply there to play my part in their make believe world. But would that be the case? Is the human mind powerful enough to not only create a false reality for one person but also for all of those within the life of the creator? Or would I simply not be when I am not in the presence of the author?
Artificial intelligence has been an ongoing goal for many people for many years, to enable a computer to have intelligence similar to that of a human. Maybe I am not human at all but am an experiment in artificial intelligence. I have been placed into a controlled environment and given the perception that I am a thirty something male and have been left to see how I react with and too different stimuli. My memories of my childhood could all have been created for me so that I have something to build on now and to make me believe I am who I am, at any given moment the experiment could be deemed a failure and I get turned off or maybe just restarted and have to do this all again. That could be one possible explanation for the beliefs that some hold that when you die you come back again. Those memories of a previous life were just in fact random bits of program and memory not deleted from the previous run.
Life is a mystery which I don’t think we will ever be in a place to understand until we come to the end of it. None of us are truly able to understand anyone else on the same level as we understand ourselves because we simply are not them. How do I know that even if I experience the same event at the same time as somebody else that we have had the same experience? The way one person sees the world and lives within it can be and is completely different to my perceptions. It is not possible for me to step into someone else’s mind and experience life through their eyes. To feel the way they feel, to see things the way they see them. If you were to for ask for ten peoples eyewitness accounts of an event they will all vary to some degree. We all see this life differently; it may be very subtle in difference but different none the less.
We are all blinkered to the true reality of life by a hundred and one tiny things around us that continually occupy our minds, from not forgetting to buy milk to problems at work. At some point we need to stop, breath, focus and take a moment to see the Elephant that is in the room with us. See the truth that has been hidden from us, that we have been to occupied and distracted to take notice of before. Wake up to the reality of our own existence.
It is maybe then and only then that we will understand the mystery of life and just maybe find some of the answers that have bewildered us for so long. But maybe in doing so we will solve the mystery of life and for us it will then cease to be, maybe then we will move onto a new plane of existence and being, this could just be a holding area to prepare you for your true life.

Life is a mystery to be solved.
I just hope when you have the answers that it will not be the end but just the beginning.

Exit stage right.

I spent the day in London yesterday with my very good friend Denzel. Denzel and his good lady wife Lara had got me tickets to the theatre for my recent birthday and yesterday was the day of the show. Now I like London however don’t often venture there even though it is not much more than a fairly short train journey away. There are a few reasons for this; the first being that I just find it far too busy; it’s difficult to even partake in a coffee and a bit of people watching as there are simply just too many people. The diversity of the people in London is extraordinary, especially yesterday as it just so happened to be Gay Pride day, I’m sure it’s not the norm on any other regular day for men to be walking around in just their pants but I could be wrong.
I actually found the best opportunity to grab a small snapshot of people watching was whilst travelling up and down the various escalators to and from the underground. Because although you are moving you are not physically propelling yourself forward and it is one of the very few places that I have ever found in London where people actually stand still for a moment in time, they pause for the shortest of breaths and just ride the escalator. Everybody can be found on those moving staircases, from the business man or woman to the old lady who has just popped out for some groceries, from famous celebrities to couples who are just famous to each other. Maybe one day I’ll take the time to travel up there on my own and maybe sit in Hyde Park and just watch the world go by, try and get more of a feel for our capital city.
Another reason for me not always wanting to go is because London confuses me, I easily get lost and can never find my bearings, this is difficult for me as a man to admit, as I’m sure any woman out there will tell you men will never admit to being lost. For some reason we believe that we should always know where we are and where we are going, it is deemed a failure to admit you are lost and even worse to have to ask for directions. This feeling is magnified if the man is with a woman, he cannot admit that he doesn’t know where he is, it is his job to get his lady from point A to point B and does not want to fail her which he will consider to be the case by admitting he is lost or asking a stranger for directions. By the way, a quick diversion from the main subject, if you ever are lost and do feel the need to ask for directions who to ask is probably the biggest dilemma you will ever have. Men will initially always look for another man to ask, this is by far less demeaning than asking a woman, however if you ask a fellow man and he doesn’t know where you want to go he will not admit this, so to save face himself he will just make up completely random directions and then send you off on a wild goose chase. Ask a woman and you enter a whole other world of directions, you will be directed via shops and trees, by pretty flowers and possibly even clouds, A woman will tell you to go down here and turn right at Next, carry on till you see the tree and turn left at the pretty flowers, oh and there was this funny looking cloud there earlier, its just by that. Always, always ask a taxi driver, you will get proper directions that you will understand and more importantly that are right, of course the only problem this springs up is trying to find a taxi driver that speaks English. You know I actually saw a bus driver yesterday with a map on his dashboard, that’s got to worry you when you get on.
Going back to my confusion with London I think I know what it is. People find their way around by visualisation we remember things and when we want to find our way back there we mentally take the journey in our minds first. The problem you encounter when moving around London is that this is removed from you to a certain degree. So much of your time moving from one place to another is underground. You make use of the Underground which takes away your ability to spot landmarks and to work out where you are. London is almost dissected into various different areas. For what its worth these different areas could be millions of miles apart, not connected at all physically except for this one tube that joins them, almost if you will, like one of these futuristic Hamster cages you can get, lots of different sections connected by tunnels. If you actually wanted to walk from one section to another you couldn’t, you would just hit a clear plastic wall. And so because you move from one section to another without external reference via the underground and because when you go down your body compass is thrown into disarray by the various twists and turns, the ups and downs you have no concept of which way you are facing or which way you are going. It’s difficult to then relate one section to another. I couldn’t get out of one tube and then point to where I had just come from or even worse try and walk back to where the tube had just brought me from. I just can’t physically relate or join one area of London to another; they are just completely separate and individual areas only accessible via the underground.

Now the main purpose of our visit was of course to go to the theatre. I absolutely adore the theatre, everything about it is magical from the moment you see the signs illuminated in a dozen lights outside to the final curtain call. It is the one thing that will draw me back to London time and time again. The magnificence of the buildings, the grandeur and the history always makes me feel like a small child stood in front of a wise old giant of a man. A man that could tell me so much and show me so much, could educate me and invoke emotions so deep and thought provoking that will make you stop all that you are doing and just listen, to just travel with him as he takes you on a magical journey of his own creation. If you give yourself over to this wise man in front of you, trust yourself in his embrace and travel with him you will experience life as it was meant to be experienced, on a level unachievable in the normal day to day existence we all live. For a few hours life will be enchanting, your own world will be placed on hold as you become a part of the building and its history.
I am quite old fashioned and maybe even snobby about the theatre, I would be extremely happy if there was still an enforced dress code, if men still had to wear dinner jackets and the ladies in magnificent gowns. I think it would only enhance what is already a very special occasion. Some people may say that this would reduce its attraction to some people and maybe make it into more of an exclusive membership instead of something for the people no matter what class you belong. But this is not true; the theatre has always been for everyone albeit in earlier years it was more segregated, the stalls area of the theatre that on the ground floor, level to the stage used to be the cheapest seats in the house. The floor was often muddy and dirty and was considered to be an area for the less fortunate although was later realised that they were experiencing so much more by being so close to the performance on stage and in recent years has become the most expensive seats in the house with the exception of the private boxes. The Royal circle and the upper circle, the areas for those that used to have money and stature are now the cheaper seats.
I am not about to write a review on the show itself, that is not my place to do, we are all individuals and will find some things pleasing that others will not, all I will say is that it was fabulous and I thoroughly enjoyed it. There is not a single aspect of the theatre that I do not enjoy, from the fantasy world played out in front of me to the interval drinks, from the lights to the music, the costumes to the props, from the actors to the musicians, I wouldn’t change a thing. Throw all of these things together and a whole lot more and you have an occasion that will stay with you forever, something that you will want to pass on to others.
As I touched upon earlier the theatre isn’t what it once was with the dress code etcetera, and on this occasion I found further changes to the spectacle that I had not noticed before. On occasion I have had the misfortune of somebody’s mobile phone ringing or to have somebody nosily rustling sweets, all of which can abruptly awaken you from the dream like world you had previously been enjoying. But on this occasion it was taken to a whole new level. At the interval Denzel and I went for our pre-ordered interval drinks, we stood there talking and watching those around us when I happened to notice a young lady carrying what appeared to be two pizza boxes, on closer inspection and observation this was in fact exactly what it was, she carried them along with a light silk scarf and stood at the bar chatting momentarily. I had not witnessed from where she came and she walked off eventually in the opposite direction from us. I came to the conclusion that surely she was a member of staff and had popped out to get some food for the actors or the backstage crew. I left it at this and didn’t give it much more mind. Denzel and I went on to finish our drinks and then make our way back to our seats. We had a few moments before the show resumed and Denzel lent me his operatic binoculars which he had earlier hired from the dispenser in the chair, (I’m not going to go into the near criminal damage inflicted on the London Palladium by Denzel after the machine swallowed his money and didn’t initially release the binoculars). So there I am looking through the binoculars scanning the stage and the auditorium when I spot the pizza girl I had seen at the bar, there she was sitting on the opposite end to where we were still clasping the two pizza boxes and the light silk scarf. I sit there in disbelief that this girl intends to eat the pizza during the performance, had I been sitting anywhere near her I would have been compelled to say something, to be honest I had to restrain myself from walking over to where she was and saying something, thankfully she was so far away to not destroy the illusion for me, once the lights went down I forgot about her and her pizza and let myself slip back into the fantasy world. But there was a small part of me that hung onto it, I half expected a delivery boy to arrive and bring somebody a curry. The fact that somebody felt it was acceptable and the fact that it was allowed amazes me and still amazes me as I write this. Has this country fallen to such a level where rules and acceptable behaviour can no longer not only be enforced but put in place in the first instance? Surely the smell of pizza would have ruined the experience for those sat anywhere near this young lady? I am extremely self conscious about how I move about and reposition myself in my seat to remain comfortable so as to not disturb those around me. If I were to take some food into the show I would be incredibly selective over what I took. Crisps would of course be out, as would anything with wrappers, sweets in bags would have to be tested for how much noise they made and most certainly nothing with any kind of overpowering smell would even be considered. What this woman was thinking I could not say. I can only assume that this behaviour is considered normal for her, I just cannot conceive it and maybe that says more about me then her but so be it.
Exit stage right pizza girl.

Should anybody read this that has any influence in such matters please may I request that dress code is re-established, even if it is for just one special night a week or a month, but that more importantly rules are set in place as to what is acceptable practice and that anybody seen carrying pizza boxes should not be allowed within fifty feet of the main entrance let alone let into the auditorium.

Enjoy the theatre; it is a spectacle and a marvellous tradition to be enjoyed by everyone, from the young to the old. Revel in it and if you have the opportunity to introduce somebody to it then do so, it is one of the greatest gifts you can give to another.
Check your worldly coat at the door and enter a world of fantasy and fiction, of story telling and drama and of magic and emotions.

Dancing in the rain.

I have a few things in life that I enjoy immensely but for no particular rhyme nor reason. They are things that give me pleasure instantly but I could not pin down exactly what it is that I find so pleasing.

There is a French word or saying that probably sums it up, joie de vivre, it means a delight in being alive; keen, carefree enjoyment of living.

Funnily enough all three things involve walking.



1. Walking in the rain or a thunderstorm
2. Walking at night
3. Walking down the middle of a deserted road



Give me all three of these things at the same time and I am in heaven.



There is something very special about being out for a walk in the rain, especially on a nice summers evening. Having spent the day being kissed by the warmth of the sun, when the air is still balmy and heavy, the smell of a BBQ still lingering on a gentle breeze and the sounds of children playing in a secluded garden, then out of nowhere you feel a few drops of rain, you instinctively look for the source, somebody watering the garden maybe, a child with a water pistol but nothing, you disregard it and carry on your way, then again, a few steps later another drop lands on your arm, warm and yet cooling to the skin at the same time. You look up and see a few odd puffs of cloud, an ever so slightly grey cloud looking somewhat out of place lurking amongst the others; you look down and see signs of drops of water on the parched floor instantly dried and absorbed.

You take in a deep breath through your nose and you can smell the water in the air, that fresh smell you only seem to get on days like this, almost as if the air itself is being washed clean as the rain falls. A few drops turns into a light shower, your body welcomes the release from the harsh summers sun, the hairs on your arms stand on end as your skin tingles from the earlier exposure to the strong suns rays. You stand in the open air, look up at the vast expanse of sky, your arms held out to your sides, palms facing upwards, you let your head drop backwards, close your eyes and open your mouth as the cooling drops of rain splash upon your face. You open your eyes as you feel a droplet land on your dry lips, your tongue tastes the clarity of the virgin water, another drop catches in your eye lashes making you blink. You stand in the cooling shower as your light summer clothes start to cling against your body, the small shower droplets start turning into fat dollops of rain drumming against leaves and the heavy dry soil.



A skip in your step now, you carry on your way, in no hurry, the rain is pleasing to your tiring body. With almost a dance you progress, on tip toes springing from paving slab to paving slab avoiding the cracks as the orchestral rain drums out its rhythm, every now and then catching the droplets on your tongue as they collect and fall from your brow. Watching as a young female blackbird baths herself in one of the many forming puddles, water beading against her feathers as she shuffles and shakes, preening herself. The musical tones of rain upon leaf climbs as a rumble of thunder forms on some distant hill side, the sky darkens and the rain pauses for a second as if to take breath, the now grey blue sky flashes with electricity highlighting the forming clouds overhead, a second rumble followed in quick succession by further flashes of light and power announce the brewing storm. And then still, the air feels electric, for a few seconds everything slows, just the sound of your breath and the gentle thump of your heart, you fill your chest with air, tasting the foreboding power in the air, your chest heaves as a fork of lightning flashes in the distance stretching out across the darkened skies, its fingers reaching out into the forming clouds as if to ignite them into life once more, a sudden clap of thunder rattles your very bones and then the rain resumes, heavier now than before it begins to fall once more. The summer light retreats from the threatening clouds as day turns into night, the earth lays still, hidden, as an animal might try to escape its predator, cowering in the darkness, hardly breathing waiting in some dark hole for the threat to pass it by. You feel like the only thing living as the threat prowls about you looking for its quarry. The streets are empty now; you step out into the deserted road and walk the centre. With every step a rebellious surge ignites your inner soul, as the shadowy hunter thunders about you, calling out to you in a display of might and ferocity, you stand tall and proud, defiant against its power and strength. His breath upon your cheek, your invisible foe stalks your every move. Walking the deserted tarmac you turn and watch for your antagonist as he lights up the ever darkening, brooding sky. Your senses heightened to every sound and movement as an indignant Mother Nature puts on a magnificent display in front of you, the rest of the world seems to have stood still as you walk along the road, you can almost sense the rotation of the earth beneath each foot fall.
In the chaos of the storm you find peace.





Nope. I can’t think of a single reason why I like it so…

A Fathers Love

With Fathers day soon approaching my heart strings are being plucked. I always thought that at some stage in my lifes journey I would have children; I have always wanted them and kinda thought that I would make a good father. I have always had a good relationship with my friends kids and my god daughter, I think the trick is that I don’t treat them as children, just small people, like minded people who like nothing more than sitting on the carpet playing games, exploring woods or playing in the local park. I love nothing more than pushing all my worldly concerns to one side for a few hours or better still a day or two and playing. When I go to see my God daughter and her sister that is exactly what I do, within minutes of arriving I am being dragged into the lounge and am presented with an array of games pre-chosen for when Uncle Identity comes to visit. With scarcely enough time to exchange greetings with my adult friends and parents to the two most beautiful girls in the world I am on the carpet and in a make believe world of fantasy and fiction played out by various dolls and figurines, we are putting jigsaw puzzles together, playing guessing games, board games, drawing or reading stories together which I think is probably the thing I love most of all, a weekend just gone I was sat on the sofa with one of the girls either side of me, my arms around them holding the book in front of us, (so that we could all see the pictures of course) and we all read together, taking it in turns to read stories to each other.
I had the opportunity not so long ago to take the two girls to one of these adventure playground things. You know the type of place, huge climbing frames covered in brightly coloured padding and foam, climbing nets, ropes and pits full of a collection of plastic balls with more colours than a rainbow. On arrival all our shoes were discarded and we let loose, all three of us charging around without a care in the world, albeit I was a bit slower and redder in the face, before too long I was like The Pied Piper of Hamelin and I had a multitude of children playing with us whilst their parents either watched from the sidelines or relaxed in the café.
I will never forget the time I had spent the day playing and I was getting ready to leave and the youngest girl came up to me as I put on my leather motorbike trousers, she tugged on my trousers, looked up at me and said “Don’t go” at which point my heart just melted, she then proceeded to wrap herself around my leg and there she stayed as I walked about gathering my things trying desperately not to burst into uncontrollable tears.
I love it, more than I am able to express in words alone.

Can anyone truly know the meaning of life without first helping to create it?

According to scientists they believe that men as well as women have a biological clock, and why wouldn’t they? Yes it is the woman that carries the baby for nine months and quite possibly has a connection that maybe man might not be fully appreciative off, but, and this is something that should be remembered by some people, it does take two. A child is a gift to both the mother and the father, not a possession to be fought over. According to the scientists who conducted the study a mans biological clock starts ticking in his mid thirties, which means if mine isn’t already ticking it’s due to start any time now. I don’t like to think that it will never happen for me, I still hold on to some hope that at some point I will be building tree houses in the garden, kicking a ball about or playing games with my own children. I long to hold my son or daughter in my arms seconds after they have been born, to know that feeling, to experience the mass of emotions that must well up at such a time. Although I am fairly certain that at such a time I would be a mess on the floor unable to cope with the outpouring of emotion and feelings. I love my god daughter and her sister with all that is within me, but and don’t let this take anything away from the way that I feel for them I don’t think the love that I have for them would compare to that which I would hold for my own children. I just hope one day I will experience such love and be able to express it. I want to see my child grow and blossom into an adult, I want to be there every step of the way, trying desperately to guide them along their own paths, or at the very least setting them on their own way, on the right path, I want to be there when it is there turn to become parents, there turn to experience the love that I would have felt and to know a whole new love for my grandchildren.

To see myself in my childrens eyes, to witness the miracle of birth, to know that feeling of being needed, an unquestionable love, an everlasting love.

Is my biological clock ticking?
It feels like Big Ben is ringing in the hours…

Happy Talk

Earlier today I partook in one of my fondest pastimes of people watching, I observed a couple sitting in a fairly modern café, (you know the type, where you can’t just order a straight forward coffee anymore) on this occasion it was the conversation that grasped my attention, now please don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t eaves dropping, in fact I have no idea what they were talking about. What intrigued me was the way the conversation flowed. The couple were probably in their mid thirties and judging by their body language were either husband and wife or at least in a very close relationship.

I sat there enjoying my “skinny cinnamon latte” for nearly an hour watching these two converse, although what fascinated me is that during the whole hour the man said exactly three words, “yes”, “no” and “maybe” various other guttural noises of approval and disapproval were made along with the occasional “Hmmmm” but I am not counting these. Throughout the majority of the conversation the mans eyes were transfixed on the large plasma screen displaying a football game in progress, at one point, so engrossed was he that he had to stop himself from jumping up and cheering when a goal was scored. For nearly an hour the woman upheld the majority of the conversation and didn’t seem to mind that her partner was negligibly involved. She was quite content just sitting and talking, barely stopping to catch breath or to sip her coffee.


Women are incredible like that, as any man that lives with a woman will be able to tell you, their ability to talk knows no bounds, which is often manifested in the phone bill. I believe this is nearly an exclusive female trait, I am notoriously bad at making conversation, small talk fills me with dread, I just can’t do it. I honestly believe anything I have to say would be found dull and sleep inducing to the poor unfortunate stuck with me as company. I admit I am not what you would call a social animal, I thoroughly enjoy my own company, when I do go out with friends or to a social occasion I am fine in a group and with a topic of conversation given to me and will happily throw in my two pence worth, however leave me alone with just one other and my ability to talk disappears quicker than a white rabbit at a magic show and I retire into my shell. For this reason I am truly envious of woman’s ability to just talk. Women love to talk, and it doesn’t necessarily matter to whom, their partner, best friend, girl friends, strangers on the bus, if you give a woman the opportunity to talk then she will take hold of it with both hands and not let go. I find it one of woman’s most endearing qualities. They will talk for hours, days if you let them; it’s stopping them that proves to be difficult, especially when in a group of other women. A woman can spend the whole day with a girl friend only to get home and spend another three or four hours on the phone to them. All a woman seems to want is someone to listen to them, simple, listen and just listen to your significant other and they will be happy. You don’t even have to get that involved in the conversation, just as long as you have listened.


Men on the other hand are at the other end of the spectrum. Men don’t really talk to other men at least not on a level that woman can comprehend. A man can spend a whole evening with another man enjoying a beer and a game of pool and darts and leave not knowing anything new about him. Wouldn’t have a clue what’s going on in his life at the moment, couldn’t tell you what their last holiday was like or even where he went, chances are would struggle in telling you his kids names let alone their ages and what’s going on with them. However he would have a complete working knowledge of his new car, the full technical specifications of his new LCD television and cinema surround sound and a mental image as clear as a high definition picture of the new female secretary his company has taken on. A man can quite happily spend hours in the company of his best mate and only exchange two or three words for the whole evening and the two or three words would probably be, “Beer?”, “Yeah” and “Cheers”.

On the very rare occasion when a man calls another man the conversation would be deemed a complete failure if it took anything longer than a minute. A man approaches conversation in much the same way as he does shopping for clothes; know what you want before you set out, know where to get it and how much it will cost, get in and get out as quickly as possible, none of your trying it on or browsing, no going round to a hundred different shops only to go back and buy the first thing you saw. Say what you have to say, await the response, hang up, job done.
Men have a unique ability to understand the guttural grunts and groans mentioned previously. Whole conversations between men can be carried out with these Neanderthal noises, which is why we get into so much trouble with the opposite sex when we instinctively use them in conversation with them, the woman is under the impression that we are not listening where as we believe we have answered fully and adequately forgetting that women have lost their ability of guttural speech and evolved into a far more beautiful subject than there cave dwelling predecessors.


Man is a few steps lower on the evolutionary ladder than woman in the conversational department and if truth be know probably always will be. Man still expresses himself with hand gestures and incomprehensible noises, under the belief that the louder he is the more articulate he is. This is one of the reasons sport is more popular among men than women as it gives them plenty of opportunity to shout and wave their arms about.

Woman however speaks in poems and flowers, there words float on the air and bring harmony. A woman’s belief is why use one word when twenty can say it so much better, never is this more evident than when woman returns home and finds man still sitting on the sofa with a beer and the pile of dirty dishes still in the sink.


If man speaks in black and white then a woman speaks in vivid high definition technicolour.

Never Forget.

It’s been sixty five years since the day the world stood up in unison and said “No” to Nazi Germany. The Allied Invasion of Normandy began shortly after midnight on the 6th June 1944 with an air assault, men parachuted into enemy occupied France and for nearly seven hours had only those that jumped with them as support. At approximately 0630hrs the amphibious assault began, using landing craft over 160,000 troops ran onto five French beaches spanning a length of 50 miles, the largest single day amphibious invasion of all time. Within five days of the initial landings approximately 326,547 troops had come ashore by sea or air. Due to the nature and scale of the assault there have never been any verified figures for those that lost their lives on the day and days to follow.
Fathers and sons, uncles and brothers, friends and strangers stood shoulder to shoulder and fought for their country, laid down their lives so that others could live.
We rightly commemorate them and remember the sacrifices made by so many. I can not even begin to imagine what it must have been like for the men. What must have been going through their minds as they rode the waves hurtling towards occupied France and then as the ramps dropped and the assault began? Under constant fire from entrenched enemy forces, as you witnessed people with whom you have trained with, lived with over the weeks and months leading up to the attack fall in front of you.
We have been shown tiny glimpses into what it may have been like from films such as The Longest Day and Saving Private Ryan and television dramatisations such as Band of Brothers. But even the best of these cannot encapsulate what it must have been like to have gone through and survived such a traumatic experience. I cannot envisage the sites that awaited our men, the brutality, the destruction, the death, the sacrifices and the heroism.
World War Two changed the way we live, saved the way that we live. We need to honour all those involved, from those that fought to those left at home who in their own way fought their own war. Every one a true hero, courageous and worthy of recognition, we must never forget, it is our duty to make sure that the following generations are made aware of the events that preserved our way of life.

For what it’s worth my heart felt thanks go out to every one who bravely took part, in whatever way, home or abroad that has made it possible for me to have the life I have.

Thank you.

Behind every mask.

We all hide behind the masks that we wear; more often than not we are unfortunately hiding than being our true selves. We do it to protect ourselves, to show the person that we would like to be, to cover the way we truly feel or maybe to try and make ourselves feel better. There can be many individual reasons as to why we put on our masks and which mask we put on.
A couple of the girls at work always say things to me like, “you are always so happy”, “can I have some of what you’re having”, “you are always singing”, now unfortunately if truth be know this is more than likely them responding to one of my masks, I am in general a happy person but quite often can be hiding behind my happy persona. As my good friends know I often use humour to hide my true emotions or to help me through difficult situations, I was in a motorbike accident a few years back and for the whole experience, from initial impact and during my time in hospital I didn’t take off my humour and happy mask until I was left on my own, I was the only patient on the night in A&E laughing and joking with the doctors and nurses, when I got sent down for the required surgery the anaesthetist couldn’t believe I hadn’t been given any drugs other than an asprin because I was so happy and care free, he even phoned through to A&E to check. In this situation I believe I wore my mask to try and protect those that I loved from worrying about me and to lighten the whole situation.
I truly believe that you can find good in most if not all situations and always try to find the silver lining, granted sometimes you really have to look and really want to find that glimmer of hope, but it is always there although sometimes it doesn’t seem apparent until after the event.
I believe that life makes us into the person that we are today, and it is how we deal with life that builds our character. I have always said that age does not guarantee wisdom but life does. The way I respond to a sad event, in public, maybe completely different from someone else, and maybe that is a bad thing; maybe I should feel free to show my true feelings at the specific time. But I have become accustomed to dealing with things, as we all have, in my own way, I protect myself by wearing a mask and only when I feel safe do I remove it. This is something that I have always done and is probably considered a very male trait. During my college years I was one of only a few guys in my class and in my circle of friends I was the only guy. I always felt that I had to be the strong one and in some Neolithic way thought it my job to protect those around me. I have become very adept at burying my true feelings and emotions, keeping them hidden from sight and only ever letting them out in what I would probably perceive as a moment of weakness. This is true for the deepest of my emotions, you will still catch me crying through my favourite weepie film or at a story of heroic exploits, my heart strings are often tugged and often display themselves in a physical way, but to get to the roots of my feelings you would need to dig deeper than just a tear wiped from my cheek.

Maybe all this means I am a difficult person to know, or to know well, but that is what makes my close friends close friends. They have gone to the effort to know me, they have been with me through some of lifes attacks and victories and now know that in a moment of trauma that I am feeling the pain and sorrow even if my outward persona doesn’t display it. We do what we do to survive, some of us need to show our emotions to others, some of us bottle them up and store them away, some of us, like me put on a brave face and then in a private time grieve. I don’t see a problem with the first and third of these, the second can be a hazardous path, emotions need to be released for us to deal with them. If you bottle up your emotions and store them one day you will run out of room, and the next time you open your cupboard door to put away another bottled emotion you may find them all come crashing down on you.

Deal with your emotions as you see fit, but they must be released, either in private or with trusted loved ones.

Emotions that are kept locked away will one day try to break free and in doing so may just break you.

Like the corners of my mind...

Do you remember your dreams? I can normally remember mine for an hour or two after I wake and then they just fade. But some remain; some just stick in your mind as an actual memory. I can still remember a dream from my innocent years, which involved me hiding in a car from a T-rex, strange but true. To my mind it’s as if that event actually took place, of course I know that it didn’t. But what is it that keeps that dream embedded in my grey matter for so many years? Some true events have less clarity than certain dreams. I’m sure at the time of the dinosaur dream there would have been some external influence that caused the dream but what that was I couldn’t say.

Memories in general are very strange, what we hold on to and what we let go off. My father died when I was just five; if he was still alive today and passed me in the street I wouldn’t recognise him. I have no memory of him what so ever and yet I can recall a time after he had finished playing cricket and I went out on the field and tried to push the big cast iron roller that was used to flatten the green. I know he was there but I cannot picture him. No matter how hard I try I cannot form a metal picture of my father.

Some memories just stick with us for the rest of our days whilst some just fade for whatever reason that may be, maybe they are disturbing memories, sad, unhappy times but that isn’t always the case, I can still clearly remember the day the policeman knocked on our door and told my mother that terrible news and how she then in turn came and told my brother and me, I can remember events that sometimes I wish I couldn’t. Most which stay with us are however probably joyous events, grand occasions, wedding days, children’s births etc but then some are just obscure memories that wouldn’t mean anything to anyone else, and in truth probably don’t mean that much to you. But our memories and our experience are part of our make up and what makes us the person we are today. If I were to suddenly lose my memory would that change the person I am today, would that change the way I dream? It must do, if you don’t know who you are, where you have come from it must change your out look on the world. Fears, loves, wishes, dreams would all vanish, you’d start all over again with a clean slate. You could redefine the person that you were. Without the external influences individual to each and every one of us whilst we grew up you would start to draw from everything around you now. But the way an adult perceives things is completely different to that of a child.

I have touched on this before, how every event and person around us moulds us into the person we are today. Examine your childhood, think back to the things you did as a child, the games you played, the friends you had, the holidays you went on, the music you listened to. Think about your parents and what they meant to you, think of the way you remember the world around you, world events (whenever 1987 is brought up in conversation I still immediately think the year of the Storm), the taboos of the day, the big scandal that we all remember happening at school (whatever that may have been for your particular school, we all had something). All of that has helped form a foundation and a basis for you today. Now think about the generation growing up today, try to place yourselves in their shoes and imagine what games you play now, what friends you have, what holidays you go on and what music you listen to. Think about what your parents mean to you, the world around you, world events, the taboos, and the scandal at school. Think how all of this is forming the foundation and the basis for the adults they are to become.

We all have memories, wishes and dreams that form the man or woman that we are and that push us forward to become that which we are meant to be.

Take care in the way you influence the children in your lives, that off day you had, when you were quick to snap and lost your temper, that day you shouted or spoke without thinking, that may just be the day that that child remembers and keeps with him or her for the rest of their days, that day may form the foundation of their adult life.

Mr Right Now?

A very dear friend of mine lent me a book recently, a book that was to be found in most women’s hand bags during the nineties and almost without exception then forced onto the said woman’s significant other who would look at it with scorn and distrust but told “You have to read this”. The book became a best seller, primarily to women who longed for answers to relationship questions that have spanned the decades. According to the authors they had the answers, that Man and Woman are different, so different in fact that they could have come from separate planets, Men from Mars and Women from Venus and that over time we had forgotten just how different we are to one another, each expecting things and reactions from one another as we would expect them to react if it was us. That this manual will translate each others reactions, subtle hints, and language and suggest or inform as to why we behave the way we do.

Is my friend trying to tell me something?

She knows me well and obviously being a woman has picked up on the fact that maybe the reason I am alone is that I have not recognised these differences yet? Every relationship I have ever had has inevitably failed or else I would not be alone but happily married or at least married. But is a marriage without love a success? I would say not, love is surely the reason to be with someone. I have always believed that it is better to be alone for the right reasons than to be with someone for the wrong ones and I believed that women felt the same. And yet today I read an article in a newspaper penned by a woman who although initially felt the same and surmised that she would only ever marry for love that now as she grew older and felt that Mr Right just didn’t exist that she would settle for Mr He’ll Do. She was not much older than myself and confessed to being with someone she did not love, that she was just settling for. I don’t ever want to be someone that someone is just settling for.
I believe in love and that as Plato first suggested that each and every one of us has a soul mate, that there is that one special person that will complete us, we are one half of a pair separated. I don’t want to be paired with someone that just makes out to be my other half, that is just glossing over the parts that don’t quite match; relationships are hard enough without having to pretend how you feel about your partner. I’m sure we can all think of a couple in our lives that are unhappy and in a non-fruitful relationship, that they have just settled for someone, which offers the reality that if there is just that one special person for each of us that our soul mate could have already settled for someone else. This inescapably means that some of us are destined to live this life alone or to just settle for someone.

There is a fairly well know advert that states we should not hang around waiting for Fate and Cupid, that they guarantee finding you love within six months. Now I’m sure this is possible, Fate and Cupid could play a part in this dating service that will bring you together with your soul mate, after all it is just a matter of finding them which will never happen if you just stay at home so it serves its purpose of getting singles to go out and meet. But how many of those that use the service decides to just settle for someone, to find either Mr or Miss They’ll Do instead of Mr or Miss Right?

Whether in a relationship or not we constantly, man and woman endeavour to make ourselves more attractive to the opposite sex. We dress in clothes that we do not necessarily feel comfortable in but that we think the opposite sex will find attractive. We apply make-up to highlight and disguise, we spray and splash fragrances onto our bodies that we hope will entice. We constantly try to make ourselves that little bit more attractive to our partner, or to those of us that are still looking, our prospective partner.

Life is a journey that I don’t believe is meant to be travelled alone, life brings obstacles and situations that are better copped with as a team, however we need to recognise that part of this journey is to be taken alone and that somewhere along the way our paths will intertwine with each other bringing you into other peoples lives and that these paths will either only meet for the briefest of moments or continue together. I am on my path and hope that one day it will meet with another but only with another that is meant to be, not someone that has just taken a detour.
My soul mate is out there somewhere and hopefully she has not already decided that I am too elusive to find and has settled for someone else, that she believes, as I do and is on her path waiting for us to meet.

I don’t believe in fairy tale endings, life can be harsh. I do believe in what will be will be. So if that means my path is a single track for longer than so be it. I have made mistakes in the past, and if they have taught me anything it is that I would rather travel alone and wait for that special someone than just travel with someone for the sake of not being alone.

No one ever said it would be easy, some journeys are tougher than others but I will endure, I will continue to press forward and overcome that which is placed in my way.

Swine Flu, Hospital and Aching muscles

Apparently according to many news and television reports and even a leaflet that was pushed through my letter box we are all in danger of contracting swine flu from elevators and telephones. This is great news for me, I now have a genuine reason of not attending my office on the 12th floor and should I feel particularly athletic and bound up the many flights of stairs I then don’t have to answer the phone. My office has even sent out an email telling all members of staff that if possible they are advised to work from home until the danger passes. Wonderful. Now instead of having to drag my sorry arse out of bed at five o’clock in the morning, do the triple S of Sh*t, Shower and Shave and attempt to look somewhat respectable in a freshly ironed shirt and tie I can now lay in till a far more respectable time of seven o’clock, throw on any piece of clothing that is currently adorning my bedroom floor, partake in a freshly brewed cup of coffee with a couple of slices of toast and Marmalade and not worry about the nights growth on my chin.
I can then recline and sink into my luxurious leather sofa whilst Lorraine Kelly tells me what high heels I should be wearing and what pair of jeans would flatter my figure more. A second cup of coffee is brewed and a further round or two of toast before I amble over to my computer and press the power button. By now my ears are being assaulted by numerous Chavs shouting and screaming at each other whilst Mr Kyle endeavours to provoke further reaction whilst ascertaining who is the father of the lucky child brought into this affordable housing war zone. It’s not before Phil and Fern have updated me as to the latest goings on in Emmerdale and I have entered the ridiculously easy quiz that I actually log onto my computer and check my emails.
Other than the occasional phone call into my office, which nobody of course can answer, things progress along a similar vein for most of the day, I become very knowledgeable in antiques and their value, how to decorate my house badly in less than sixty minutes and how to purchase property in Spain.
Should Swine Flu ever really strike in this country to a serious degree of threat to kith and kin I will be fine, I can sell antiques to make enough money to leave this country and its pandemic behind whilst jetting off to sunnier climes in Europe and my newly decorated summer house all whilst looking magnificent in a pair of figure hugging jeans.



I have just recently, albeit reluctantly furthered my life by another year. Not that I want my life to end you understand but would just rather I didn’t have to count my progressing years anymore. I have never really celebrated my birthdays, at least not since my younger school days and as I have grown older it has become just another day. The problem is no matter how much you hide or try to shy away from your real age or your birthday someone is always there to remind you. On this occasion I was reminded when I received a letter in the post a week or two prior to the actual day. There is no hiding from the fact that you are getting older when on your birthday you receive a Colonoscopy as a present from your local hospital, this really is the kind of present to which you hope the receipt has been kept and you can happily exchange it at a later date. However it hadn’t and I was forced to attend and endure one of the more embarrassing procedures your doctor can inflict upon you.
Having not only starved myself the day before my system also had to be flushed clean of any “obstacles” so that the lengthy camera that will be inserted into my rectum will have an unobstructed view of my internal workings. So having spent the previous day sitting on the toilet experiencing something that can only be described as someone turning on a fire hose full blast and letting go of the end I was fairly eager to get this whole unpleasant day or two over with. I arrived on ward with plenty of time to spare hoping to get in and out as soon as possible, or should I say to get the camera in and out as soon as possible? But, alas this was not to be. I have no gripes about waiting to be seen, none whatsoever, in fact it’s a pet hate of mine to be sat in a waiting room and listen to other people complaining that they haven’t been seen yet. It’s called a waiting room for a reason. It’s where you wait; it’s not called a sit down and be seen straight away room. It’s one of the few things in this world that really erks me. I will never say a bad word about our NHS. They do a wonderful job in a difficult and sometimes dangerous environment. My praises will always go out to them; they have helped me a great deal including scrapping me off the tarmac on one occasion.

However… The only thing I will say is are hospital gowns really necessary? I’m sure we can come up with a slightly less degrading option. Now it may be different for women and certain Celtic men on two counts, but I believe they are an inside joke to help pass the time for the nurses. Firstly I do not own any item of clothing that fastens at the back, so I have no experience of doing this. Not once have I managed to find all the straps or tie them to the correct opposite strap, I either miss out straps altogether or have the top tied to the bottom. I always end up spinning in circles like a dog chasing his tail trying to find them. Would a strip of Velcro down the back not be easier? Secondly how are you meant to sit down once you have to a degree fastened the back without showing off all that God gave you? Again I do not own any skirts and have no idea how to sit down in one in a dignified manner. Women cross their legs differently to men. Women cross their legs at the knee whilst men place one ankle on the opposite knee. This obviously is not appropriate when your meat and two veg are on display like a raw chicken hung in a butcher’s window. So you end up sitting there fidgeting until the doctor or nurse comes to see how you are getting on and finds you kicking your legs about like a once famous Kenny Everet character “In the best possible taste”.
Having found a comfortable position to sit in, and by comfortable I mean both feet on the floor, legs tightly clasped together and both hands trying to pull down the edge of the gown between your legs. I sit and listen to the doctor explain the procedure to me. I am then walked into the operating theatre, my bare arse hanging out of the badly fastened gown. My feelings of humiliation were soon replaced by something far worse as within seconds of climbing onto the operating table my gown was swung up around my neck until I was wearing it more as Superman would wear his cape. I take my mind of it all by rambling incoherent nonsense to the nurse attending to my gas and air desperately trying to forget the fact that I am lying naked on a table with three strangers busying themselves around me. Very soon the invasion begins, as what feels like a BBC war correspondence team venturing into an area that isn’t discussed in polite conversation. Luckily for me and my awkward discomfort I am able to remove myself form the situation and watch it all take place on TV as if it’s happening to somebody else and not me at all. This didn’t last long. The camera crew exploring my every internal crevice had reached what appeared to be a difficult corner to navigate and needed some external assistance. One of the nurses then began to lean on my stomach and manually assist the camera through the difficult colon chicane. My groans and grunting brought calming words from the nurse looking after me however this didn’t alleviate the thoughts that at any moment something was going to burst through my stomach wall. After various changes in position the camera crew reached their final destination and started the return journey. Thankfully this is a lot quicker although did make me feel like a drain that Dyno Rod were busy working on. Trying in vain to transport myself out of my current predicament I focus back on the TV screen and watch the journey my food takes on a daily basis.
Eventually after much prodding, poking and worst of all inserting I am wheeled back onto ward to recover for a few minutes, given a nice hot cup of tea and a sandwich and then sent on my merry way, walking out of the hospital as if I had been riding a horse for the last week.


I have been having trouble with my back for a few weeks having twisted my spine a couple of months back and the built up accumulation of many years of ill treatment, overworked lifting and shifting and incorrect posture, having been to see a physiotherapist I thought that I would book myself in for a sports massage to ease out any further knots. I have never had a professional massage before and was quite looking forward to it. I am welcomed into the centre with a nice cup of tea and asked a few routine health questions and if I had had any recent injuries. Very soon I was lying face down on the table with my face in a hole. As I think I have mentioned before I am not great at small talk, this is hindered even further when I have my face through a hole in a table, am half naked and a woman I have only met five minutes previously is pummelling my back. There I am staring at her parquet flooring and trying to discuss the weather and holidays etc. Before my hair rebelled on me and started disappearing and I actually went to hairdressers I always went to the same chap, we had an understanding, we would exchange pleasantries and then just shut up. None of this where are you going for your holidays rubbish. This is something I am going to have to instil on my masseuse should I go back again which I think I probably will. So there I am studying the floor, listening to the plinky music in the background and making the odd remark about the rain. You cannot have any intimacy issues if you intend to go for a massage, although primarily aimed at my back and neck apparently it was also necessary to attack my gluteus maximus, thankfully it had been a couple of weeks since my earlier experiences with the doctors or we could be telling a whole other story.
I have discovered that a sports massage is very different to a regular massage. A regular massage is designed to relax you, to send you off into a pleasant dream world leaving all your troubles behind. This was not. This was designed to loosen stiff overworked muscles, releasing the body toxins and realigning that which is out of place and considering that I have never had a massage before over the years my muscles had become very stiff and tight. Not being able to see a great deal other than floor I had no idea what she was doing and at times I wouldn’t have been surprised if she had climbed up onto my back and frog marched up and down my spine. She really did throw her whole being into the massage, twisting, bending, pummelling, stroking, rubbing and digging into my back. I could physically feel my muscles separating and moving around. At one point with my arm being pulled over my head my Lats clunked quite satisfyingly back into place. All in all it was very satisfying, albeit at times slightly uncomfortable re-manoeuvring muscles back into place, my back feels good, my small talk techniques have been exercised and I have a new intimate knowledge of parquet flooring. I do however feel it necessary to go for a relaxation type massage for comparison purposes only of course; however there is a small part of me that thinks this would result in me worrying about wrinkles and grey hairs, before you know it I’d be buying moisturisers and hair dye. A sports massage can be cunningly disguised as a medical procedure and not a treatment reserved for WAGS and pretty boys.
And yet it dawns on me that now having watched so much daytime telly, had a colonic irrigation and now a massage I may have unforeseeably slipped onto the downward spiral of male grooming…



I fear the worst.

To Protect, Serve and look good on Television

Over recent weeks the Police have been headline news once more, with various people crying out of police brutality and violence, heavy handiness and hostility. Like most people I watched the G20 protests on the news and for the most part, from what was broadcast it was a fairly calm affair with a few pockets of fighting and property destruction. The police once again maintained a safe environment for all and any in the area and yet because two or three people complain because whilst they shouted and screamed abuse at a frontline officer, that when they assaulted the officer by placing their hands on them and the officer attempted to arrest the individual to remove them from the street so as the rest of the protest was not further tainted by the acts of one or two there is a public outcry. If you place yourself in the situation, in the line of fire so to speak and then get hurt the blame should be solely laid at that individuals feet. Of all the thousands that attended that day how many complaints have been received?

When I watched the protests on the news I was amazed at how little police presence there was, try to imagine what it must have been like for an officer holding the line, standing nose to nose with thousands of screaming, angry protesters. Being pushed and assaulted, being spat at and abused just because you are the one in uniform there. One line of officers attempting to control thousands, under the uniform and the training, the equipment and the rank a police officer is a person. Adrenaline and fear, heart racing and sweat beading the person has to stand there and resist all that is within them to remove themselves from this dangerous, life threatening situation. To remain calm and professional in the face of a violent, threatening crowd. To remember their training, to find the knowledge of what they can and can’t do in the eyes of the law, to watch without reaction as people threaten violence, as objects are thrown and punches received from the undistinguishable masses. As thousands march towards you, their faces hidden, their arms raised.

People are far too quick to judge and condemn the police for the work that they do, without ever putting the uniform on and patroling the streets they criticise. How many times is a police officer hurt whilst carrying out his or her day to day duties?

Don’t know?

It doesn’t make front page reading like so called police brutality does. The fact is thousands of our officers are hurt on a daily basis trying to do a job that they feel passionate about, trying to keep us safe whilst we sleep in our beds or enjoy a night out. If we are to criticise them we must first understand what they do, we must walk a mile in their shoes to realise just what the job entails. There was quite rightly public outcry when we learnt some of our armed forces were going to the front line poorly equipped and yet the police across this country are sent out daily without the correct equipment. Most people would be shocked to find out how few police officers are on active duty in their town each evening. A small handful is expected to protect the masses.

Gone are the days of the friendly police bobby standing on the corner with his tunic and custodian on, able, without any finger pointing or forms to fill in, to clip a youngster round the ear for cursing and drag said scallywag home to his mother.
When I grew up I wouldn’t have said boo to a police officer for fear of retribution from not only him but my mother having been marched home. Now so little respect for the law is shown by both child and parent alike, we flout the law on a daily basis. And when caught complain until it is dropped. With every new day our police officers hands are tied and tightened even further behind their backs.

We complain that there are too many cameras on our roads and that they serve no purpose. Now I am no statistician but people complain because thousands of fines and points are dealt out because of these cameras. Now as far as I am aware the cameras do not pick random motorists to discipline they are activated when you are going faster than the speed limit for that road or jumping through a red light, or to put it more simply they only take a picture when somebody breaks the law. If we were technologically advanced enough to have cameras that spotted burglaries or muggings as they happened and immediately issued the law breaker his or her sentence or fine would we be so quick to complain? Why are some laws taken with a pinch of salt and broken by us all at some point? I guess it is human nature to complain or try and dodge punishment when we are caught, it something we have done throughout our lives from not handing homework in on time because the dog ate it or driving home having one too many because somebody must have spiked your drink.

Do not point fingers at those that choose to put on the uniform every day and go about their duties to the best of their abilities. If you have done nothing wrong than what concern have you got? They are there for our benefit. Help them. Assist where you can. Remember they are all somebody’s son or daughter that has made the decision that they want to try and help their community. That by walking a street at night or by driving a marked police car they can in some small way make this country safer.

Somebody once told me that an average police officer will experience in a single year more than a member of the public will in their entire life time.

A police officer will place themselves in situations you could only conceive of in your worst nightmares and at the same time be expected to act professionally and legally. Often on their own, with back up maybe 5 minutes away if they are lucky, a lot can happen to a single person in five minutes when confronted by a violent group.

The police are understaffed and underequipped. Let’s not make their job any harder than it already is.

One of our jigsaw pieces is missing...

Over recent weeks a few, slightly older familiar faces have re-entered my life via the means of a certain popular social networking site. It has made me realise how much time has past without me knowing it. Friends have married, moved away, come back again, had children, divorced, married again, travelled over seas, had more children and settled down.

Looking at the snap shot of people’s lives through the window of Facebook I suddenly realised just how much I have missed out on. I have married and regrettably divorced; I have married again and will very soon be divorced, again. Marriage and me just doesn’t seem to fit, unfortunately, because I am a great believer in marriage and always longed for the “perfect” life, if such a thing exists? I always thought I would marry my childhood sweetheart, have children and grow old together. But, somewhere along the way I took the wrong road which has led me somewhere I never thought I would be.

Here I am a thirty something male alone. Not having somebody to share your life with can prove a very testing time. It leaves you a lot of time with only yourself and your thoughts as company. Something which I have never minded, I have always enjoyed my own company but am not sure I will be so happy growing old with just me as a companion.

I have not written off the possibility of finding my soul mate and living the dream but I’m not in any rush. Life has left its scars on me and I’m not sure if my aging body could cope with any more. But on the other hand I am not getting any younger either. To live my dream would involve having children and in that dream I was always young and fit enough to play with them, not so old all I want are my slippers and a hot cup of Horlicks, (not that I’m quite there yet).

Please don’t get me wrong, I am very happy with my life, most of the jigsaw is there and starting to fit together nicely, however I haven’t found all the edges yet and there is the feeling that there may be a few important pieces missing or at least some pieces are proving very elusive. I am, for a change putting myself first and doing things that I have always wanted to do and just maybe this has put me back on the road I diverted from so many moons ago.

The problem is, when I look at my friends lives, somewhere there in the still dark recesses of my mind a small voice whispers to me “You have left it too late”.
And worse still, a part of me agrees with it.


What if you only get one shot at your dream and I have missed mine or just messed it up? What if this is as good as it’s going to get for me now. As much as I enjoy my life if there is a significant piece missing and if you recognise the fact it is missing, it will always be missed.


The upside is, when I look at my friends lives, somewhere there in a brighter recess of my mind a small voice whispers to me “Your time has yet to come”.
And thankfully, a part of me agrees with it.

Space, the new frontier?

It was in the news this week that scientists believe that there are over a billion other Earth like planets somewhere out in the voids of space. I have always been of the belief that there could be life on other planets. Why wouldn’t there be? I’m not necessarily talking about little green men or hideous monsters with acid for blood that rip through your stomach wall whilst you are enjoying your Sunday lunch, but life of some description, maybe not that dissimilar to us.

Space intrigues me, that amount of undiscovered territory just waiting to be found and explored. What could be, what is, waiting for us just beyond the local stars we have barely touched upon? Space, as far as I am aware has no limits, no boundaries, if it did what would be beyond space?

Days gone by have spawned some of the greatest explorers known to man. Columbus and Cook set sail from various shores to discover new worlds returning victorious before their people. The urge to explore space however does not seem to herald such urgency or desire as it once did. And yes I understand that there is a fair bit of expense in the exploration of space, however in comparative terms I’m sure there was a fair bit of expense for Columbus, Cook and other explorers of the day to get a ship, man it and stock it for the months or years spent at sea.

Just try to imagine what discoveries would be brought back with the modern day explorer. Instead of potatoes we could get Felimper Carmos, (no I have no idea either but that’s because it hasn’t been discovered yet). I hope I will get to see in my lifetime just some of the exploration of space that I am sure we will one day achieve. If volunteers were called upon to man an experimental exploration ship into the darkest realms of space I would be first in the line to sign up.

To witness things that nobody had ever seen before, to step where no human has stood.

TO BOLDLY GO WHERE NO MAN HAS GONE BEFORE.


The possibilities are endless, it’s no wonder the concept has produced so many much loved television shows and movies. It truly is science fiction, but then so were many of today’s technologies that we now take for granted. One day science fiction must become science fact, either through need or desire we will explore that which has only been viewed through a lens.

It wouldn’t surprise me either if one day we, the human race, start to populate some of these Earth like planets. Over the many years on this planet we have grown in numbers with every passing year. I’m not a historian by any means but I think it would be fairly accurate to say that the world’s population increases every year. And with every passing year and every new person born to this world more and more space is needed. We have spread from humble beginnings to every far flung corner of Earth and populated it.
There is only so much room and very soon it will run out and we will have to look elsewhere to live. Even if we were to plunder and colonise the oceans depths, sooner or later this too would run out. Eventually our only option for our continued growth will be to break free from the bounds of this sphere and find new planets to call home.
In years to come when you are searching the local estate agents boards for a new larger home to accommodate your ever growing family’s needs you could find yourself choosing not only a new street in a new town but maybe on a new planet.
Interstellar house moving? I dread to think; moving now can be stressful enough.

I wonder if it is that far from us. Relatively speaking we are still a fairly young species. We have only just begun in the greater view of things. The excitement as we stumbled into the new millennium and the 21st century is still fresh in our minds and memories. But, as long as we don’t screw things up too much, imagine what it will be like for our very distant relatives to witness the world’s first steps into the 121st century.
Just think how far technology has already progressed and how fast it is progressing. Before you take your latest gadget to the till and pay for it chances are its successor is already being made.

The jobs section of the local rag could become very interesting in years to come. Just like any large cruise ship now needs almost every type of profession onboard it so would the intergalactic ships of the future. Imagine applying for an administrator’s job or an electrician, plumber, caretaker, security guard on board HMS Star Searcher. The opportunity to travel through space will at some point become a very real option for the common Joe Public as the ship is crewed in preparation for its journey. A living community with a need for everything we need now and for people to service and provide for those needs.

Of course I would be applying for a more senior position amongst the crew, nothing too glamorous or above my station but Captain has a nice ring to it. Whatever you do, don’t choose a role where you suddenly appear at the beginning of an episode and have never been seen before. You will almost certainly be killed within the next hour. Go for the more prestigious role that comes with more air time.

This is all very Hollywood at the moment, the kind of stuff only really dreamt of in movie studios and played out in front of us by A list celebrities. But then is it? Who knows what is currently in production behind the doors at NASA. Would it be that unbelievable to think that more space travel has already taken place than we are led to believe? Space travel and exploration has lost the glamour and intrigue it once held, primarily because of the various Hollywood blockbusters and so it is now easier to hide should the appropriate authorities deem it necessary. Hollywood has already shown us the corners of the galaxy according to each producer and directors CGI induced creativity. So when new pictures come back from the Hubble telescope it doesn’t grab your imagination like it once did. Your imagination has already been stretched and will now take a lot more than pictures of a newly discovered star to excite it once more.
I would have loved to have experienced that feeling of the first moon landing beamed into everybody’s living room. It dominated the News and was the talk of every town worldwide, people were excited, the human race was taking its first baby steps into a new world, a new way of living. A space shuttle launches now and you’ll be lucky to find it in the “and finally” story at the end of the News.


There are two types of people in this world, Astronomers and Astronauts.
Those that are happy to just look at the stars and those that need to play amongst them.

I know which one I am.


Beam me up Scotty, bring on the playing field.